


Teach Me A Lesson

by Preach



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alpha Erik Killmonger, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Boss/Employee Relationship, Corporal Punishment, Dubious Consent, M/M, Omega T’Challa (Marvel), Spanking, Strict A/B/O gender roles, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preach/pseuds/Preach
Summary: “And so if we differentiate the function here, we'll get…”Erik only paid half a mind to T’Challa’s words, content to let the sound of the omega’s sweet voice wash over him. His attention was more focused on the curve of his teacher’s ass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is 'no no yes' dubcon, possibly noncon depending on your reading.
> 
> Erik is 16 in this fic.

“And so if we differentiate the function here, we'll get…”

Erik only paid half a mind to T’Challa’s words, content to let the sound of the omega’s sweet voice wash over him. His attention was more focused on the curve of his teacher’s ass. T’Challa was tall, and when his neat, precise handwriting had filled up the top half of the whiteboard, he’d bend over at the waist so that he could scribble on the bottom half.

The way the seat of his grey pants tightened over his ass as he bent over...  _mmmm._ Erik licked his lips.

His best friend W’Kabi, who was seated at the desk beside him, rolled his eyes. “You’re ogling the teacher again?” W’Kabi whispered to Erik. “Pay attention.”

Erik smirked. “I am paying attention.”

“To his _ass._ Not the _class.”_

“I already know all of it,” Erik scoffed. “This is just a waste of time.”

Erik had developed a habit of reading through his entire syllabus at the start of the year, so that he could spend the rest of the school year doing whatever the fuck he wanted in class. This had the added perk of annoying most of his teachers, who hated it when he didn’t pay any attention in their classes.

Not T’Challa, though. He was pleasantly surprised that Erik already knew all of the material at the beginning of the year, and had jumped to the conclusion that it was because Erik had a deep and abiding passion for mathematics. He had been so enthusiastic about Erik's “studiousness” and “passion for learning” that Erik couldn't bring himself to correct him.

Unlike the other teachers, who insisted that he at least _act_ like he was listening during their classes, T’Challa was happy to let Erik daydream or read when he was teaching, as long as he didn't distract the other students. But T’Challa was so _pretty_ that Erik usually paid attention to his classes. Dark skin, strong jaw, plush lips and big eyes framed with long curling lashes. Even his name was pretty - _T'Challa Udaku._ Exotic. Foreign.

Erik had barely taken notice of other omegas in the past. Sure, most of them were attractive in a delicately pretty way, but he had never fixated on them like he had with T’Challa. Now, though - was it the sudden onset of teenage alpha hormones? - he spent most of his nights jerking off to the image of his teacher on his knees, his lips wrapped around Erik's cock. Or spread out on the big wooden table in their classroom, whimpering as his slick hole stretched around Erik's knot.

The bell rang, jerking Erik out of his dirty fantasies.

 _Damn._ Time seemed to pass by way too quickly when it came to a class that Erik was actually interested in.

“All right, class, remember to study for the mock exam on Friday,” T’Challa reminded everyone as he started cleaning the whiteboard. “It's good practice for your year-end exam, and it's very important to try to do well for this one, even though it won't count towards your final grade.”

A wicked idea suddenly struck Erik. A slow, gleeful smile spread across his face.

“Why the fuck are you grinning like that?” W'Kabi said in disgust. “You like exams that much? You're weird, man.”

Erik clapped W'Kabi on the back. “Watch.”

 

* * *

 

T’Challa walked around the classroom, handing back their mock exam papers.

“Congratulations to W’Kabi, Nakia and M’Baku for being the top scorers in this exam,” T’Challa said, as the rest of the class clapped politely.

W’Kabi leaned over to Erik. “How do you think you did?”

“I failed,” Erik replied promptly, just as T’Challa dropped his paper on his desk with a small, uncharacteristic frown. The number zero was circled in red on the first page of his exam paper.

W’Kabi blinked. “What the fuck happened?”

Erik shrugged.

“Erik, could you see me after school, please?” T’Challa said quietly, sounding concerned.

Erik nodded, hiding his smile. “Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

After the other students had left the classroom, T’Challa closed the door behind them, leaving them alone in the classroom.

“Erik, is something wrong?” T’Challa asked, with a concerned expression on his face. “This wasn't up to your usual standard at all. Are you having difficulties with the class material?”

“Nah, I know it.” Erik shrugged.

“Are you having any difficulties at home?” T’Challa continued. He sounded so worried that Erik actually felt a little bad about fucking up the exam on purpose.

“No, it's nothing like that,” Erik assured him. “Look, I can take the test again - I know everything.”

Erik grabbed the exam paper and glanced at the first question. He thought for a bit, then scribbled the answer on the whiteboard. After going through five questions, there was the sound of a throat being cleared from behind him. “Okay, that's enough.”

Erik put down the marker and turned around. T’Challa was staring at him, arms folded across his chest and a look of bemused puzzlement on his face.

“Well, you've proven that you know the test material,” T’Challa said. “So why did you score so badly? I didn't think you were the type of student to mess up an exam on purpose, Erik.”

Erik locked eyes with T’Challa and licked his lips.

“Maybe I just wanted to spend some time alone with you,” he said quietly. He subtly shifted his body so that he was leaning closer to his teacher.

There was a pause as T’Challa processed his words. The air between them seemed charged, electric with tension.

T’Challa inhaled sharply, biting at his bottom lip. Realization flickered in his eyes, along with a flare of - was that _arousal?_

Yes. Definitely arousal. His omega scent, usually so mild as to be barely noticeable, had intensified, filling the air between them with a pleasant spicy sweetness. Erik leaned in close, inhaling deeply.

T’Challa pulled away, a look of guilt and horror crossing his face. “Erik, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -” he began.

Erik didn’t let him escape. His hand shot out to grab T’Challa’s forearm, preventing him from pulling away. The feeling of T’Challa’s soft, warm skin under his hand sent a pleasant tingle up his spine. Omegas usually had body temperatures higher than that of alphas, which increased when they were aroused or in heat. A deep, primal thrill of satisfaction rushed through Erik, his alpha hindbrain purring with satisfaction at being in the presence of a pretty, receptive omega.

Erik leaned in close, sliding his hand up T’Challa’s arm, pulling him close by the shoulders. He reached out to cup his teacher’s face in his hands.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmured, stroking T’Challa’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Wanted you for the longest time…”

T’Challa’s eyes fluttered shut, almost helplessly. Mesmerized, Erik watched the long sweep of his eyelashes, before T’Challa came to his senses and somehow managed to wriggle free of Erik’s hold.

“Erik!” T’Challa gasped, sounding shocked. He looked so scandalized that it was almost funny. “I - stop. We need to stop. This isn’t appropriate.”

Erik smirked. “Oh, come on. You know you want me too, _sir.”_

The scent of omega pheromones was still lingering in the air. T’Challa was breathing hard, and his eyes were wide and dark, filled with arousal. Arousal and shame.

“This is a bad idea,” T’Challa said, shaking his head. He stepped back from Erik. “I could get fired for this - ”

“Hey, I'm not gonna tell anyone,” Erik said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re my student! You’re too young.”

“We’re only, like, three years apart,” Erik pointed out.

 _“Five!”_ T’Challa corrected, but it was a feeble excuse and Erik knew it.

“I'd be taking advantage of you,” T’Challa continued worriedly.

Erik laughed. “I think _I’m_ the one taking advantage here.”

He advanced on T’Challa, who kept backing up until his back was flat against the wall.

T’Challa put his hands out, placing them on Erik’s chest and trying to push him back, a little, kitten-weak shove.

Erik ignored it. Resistance was normal. Most omegas usually put up a fight at first before giving in, even if they were ultimately receptive - a test to see how serious their alphas were about them. Some omegas would make their alphas chase them for weeks or even months, but Erik wasn’t going to stand for that. He would be having T’Challa Udaku today and that was that.

T’Challa’s head was turned to the side, but Erik placed a hand on the side of his cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Erik, no. Stop. I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room.”

They were so close that Erik could feel the stiffness throughout T’Challa’s entire body. The omega was so tense. Anxious. His distress was so palpable that it was actually beginning to turn Erik off. He nuzzled into T’Challa’s cheek in an attempt to comfort him, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Erik murmured. He pressed a warm kiss to T’Challa’s cheek, then licked a warm stripe up along the base of his jaw, where the omega’s scent gland was located. The smell was most pleasantly intense there. Soft and spicy. So enticing.

T’Challa shivered, then went pliant beneath Erik, leaning into his caress.

_Victory._

Erik tilted T’Challa’s head up so that their lips met in a kiss.

It wasn’t the first time that Erik had kissed someone. There had been a couple of clumsy attempts with childhood sweethearts when he was younger, but nothing like _this._ T’Challa’s lips were warm and soft, and the way his resistance melted away as he was kissed breathless…it was _intoxicating._

A wave of possessiveness swept over Erik - the urge to claim, knot and mark the omega surged over him, surprising him with its intensity. Erik spun T’Challa around, steering him back so that they were now next to the teacher’s desk, his breathing going more ragged.

“I - Erik, please, stop.” Guilt tinged T’Challa’s voice as Erik began undoing the buttons on his shirt. He placed his hand over Erik's, stilling his fingers, and his palm was so, so warm against the cool back of Erik's hand. “We really shouldn't.”

“How long are you gonna keep pretending, sir?” Erik shot back. “I know you want me. _T'Challa.”_ he added, enjoying the way his teacher's name rolled off his tongue. “You don't mind if I call you T'Challa, right? Unless you prefer to still be called _sir.”_ Erik smirked.

“I - T'Challa is fine,” T’Challa mumbled, looking extremely flustered. “It's just - I don't want to - really, this isn't right. And I could lose my job for this.”

“Don't worry,” Erik assured him. “I want you, you want me too. I don't see what's wrong. If you'd just _let_ me -”

He batted T’Challa’s hand away and began unbuttoning his shirt again, with more force this time. T’Challa trembled and tried to struggle away, but Erik countered his movements this time. The tricks that he had learnt in judo practice was paying off, and he had the advantage of being naturally stronger than the smaller, slighter omega.

“Just tell them I overpowered you and you couldn't fight me off,” Erik said, a dark, possessive tone entering his voice. He slid T’Challa’s shirt down, baring his shoulders. Erik gave T’Challa a light warning nip on his shoulder as his struggles intensified, drawing a small whine from the omega before he licked over the bite mark to soothe the sore spot. “You're the omega. People will believe you.”

Tears of shame were welling up in T’Challa’s eyes now, clinging to his eyelashes. Erik kissed them away, stroking his cheek to soothe him. The omega was still warm under his touch, and still giving off attraction pheromones - an observation which made Erik absurdly pleased. He would have stopped if T'Challa really didn’t want this, but he _did._ He was just refusing to admit it to himself. Being stubborn.

Well, Erik was stubborn too. And he was going to give them what they both wanted.

He yanked T’Challa’s pants and underwear down in one swift motion, making him gasp. T’Challa’s cock was already half-hard. He looked down, blinking rapidly in shame, avoiding Erik’s eyes.

“See, sir, I knew you wanted this.” Erik grinned, reaching for his cock. He gave it a few rough strokes, enjoying the velvety feel of T’Challa’s cock in his hand, already slick with pre-cum, before turning T’Challa around so that he was bending over the desk.

Erik was still fully clothed. He paused for a moment to admire the sight of T’Challa ass-up over his own desk - that sight was going to provide him with at least a week’s worth of wank material - before unfastening his own pants, only bothering to shove them down around his knees.

He took hold of T’Challa’s cheeks in each hand, spreading them apart to expose his slick hole. T’Challa wasn’t resisting him now. He even shifted a little so that his thighs were spread wider apart.

“Erik,” T’Challa’s voice was strained with tension, and his head was buried in his forearms. His voice was soft, shaky, filled with shame. “Please… not too rough.”

Erik leaned over to kiss the back of T’Challa’s neck, nuzzling into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He shouldn’t find the tremble in T’Challa’s voice so arousing, knowing how distressed he was probably feeling right now, but that slight twinge in Erik’s conscience was quickly brushed aside in favour of appreciating just how fucking _hot_ T’Challa was, now that he was properly submissive and pliant.

“Don’t worry, baby. I'll be nice,” Erik purred.

He gave T’Challa’s ass cheeks a squeeze - his ass was just as juicy as Erik had always imagined - and then stroked the pad of his finger over T'Challa's slick hole before sinking it all the way in to the knuckle, delighting in the way that T'Challa clenched down on it with a shuddering little gasp. Erik began thrusting his finger in and out, adding a second finger soon after to stretch him looser.

But he was too impatient to keep this up for very long. Erik was eager to get to the good part, and by the looks of it, so was T'Challa, given the way he was actively pushing his ass back into Erik's fingers now and rutting down against the desk.

Erik withdrew his fingers swiftly, then lined up his cock with T'Challa's entrance,. Desire burned hot in the base of his belly, a pleasant heavy throb in his cock as he nudged T'Challa's thighs further apart before sliding in.

 _Fuck._ It was better than anything Erik had ever experienced before - the slick wet heat of T’Challa’s hole gripping at his cock, the way T’Challa squirmed, breath hitching in his throat, the little choked-off gasp from T’Challa as Erik sank all the way in until his balls were flush against the curve of T’Challa’s backside. T’Challa’s hole stretched to accommodate Erik’s length easily, as if he had been made just for this.

Erik paused to let T’Challa adjust, but T’Challa clenched down, walls rippling around Erik’s cock, before humping back against him in clear invitation. The practiced way that T’Challa threw his ass back, working himself on Erik’s dick - well. He probably wasn’t the first alpha that T’Challa had fucked.

The thought made a low, possessive growl rise in Erik’s chest. He was determined to fuck all memory of other alphas out of T’Challa, to ruin him for any other alpha who dared to come after _his_ omega. His fingers tightened around T’Challa’s hips and he began to fuck into him hard, plunging in all the way to the hilt with each thrust.

The rhythm was brisk and unforgiving. T’Challa’s hands scrabbled against the dark wood grain of the desk, fingers tightening around the far edge as he gasped with each hard thrust. Suddenly, he froze, then clenched around Erik jerkily, whimpering. Slick gushed from where they were joined.

Erik hid a grin and leaned over T’Challa’s back to whisper in his ear, “So fast? This dick good, huh?”

“...It’s been a while,” T’Challa admitted, voice strained. He was panting lightly, sweat beginning to bead on his back, slicking up his dark skin. “My heat is coming up, I - _ah -”_

He groaned as Erik began to pound into him again. Wet slapping sounds filled empty the classroom, louder now than before, amplified by the copious amount of T’Challa’s slick. T’Challa shifted - Erik admired the ripple of muscle up his ass, his back - and buried his face in his forearms again, obviously trying to keep quiet to avoid attracting attention to them. But he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Each one of his hissed exhales and choked-off moans called straight to Erik’s primal instincts.

_Claim… knot… mate…_

The swelling was starting to form at the base of Erik’s cock now, making each thrust more jerky, less smooth. Erik began to pull out, knowing that it was uncomfortable for an omega to be knotted outside of heat, but -

“No,” T’Challa gritted out, pushing himself back on Erik. “Knot in me.”

The words sent a thrill of satisfaction up Erik’s spine. Throwing his concerns aside, he shoved himself in forcefully, gripping T’Challa by the hips to drag him back on his cock. T’Challa squirmed and yelped as the base of the knot popped in him, then began to swell, stretching and filling up his hot, slick hole.

Erik let out a long, low grunt of satisfaction, bucking his hips as T’Challa climaxed again with a cry.

 _Fuck._ Jerking off by himself was really night and day apart from knotting in a slick omega hole. T’Challa’s contractions rippled around his cock, wringing pulses of come from him as Erik gritted his teeth, letting out a long, satisfied exhale. They would be locked together for several minutes now.

T’Challa whimpered at the sensation and turned his head, cheek pressed flush against the surface of the desk. Their eyes met. T’Challa’s eyes were shiny with tears, lips swollen and bitten, face flushed dark with mingled shame and pleasure.

The sight of T’Challa looking totally debauched was the hottest thing that Erik had ever seen. Erik couldn’t resist leaning over to give him a hard, sloppy kiss.

“Wasn’t that fun, sir?” he said teasingly. “I don’t see why you were so worked up about this at the start.”

“Oh my God, don’t remind me. I shouldn’t have done this.” T’Challa closed his eyes, his lips twisting downwards guiltily. “I’ll - I’ll understand if you want to report me -”

“And ruin all this? No fucking way. Though if you don’t let me fuck you again, I’d be really upset. _Hurt._ I’d think that you just wanted to use me for a quick one-time fuck. I might even feel bad enough to go to Principal N'Jadaka.”

“This is blackmail,” T’Challa protested, wriggling under Erik.

Erik grinned and slapped T’Challa lightly across the ass, making him yelp and squirm. “I guess you’ll just have to be my little sex slave from now on. _Sir.”_

The small noise that T’Challa let out in response didn't sound particularly upset.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Principal N’Jadaka punishes T'Challa for being a naughty slut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic runs on porn logic, and standard porn disclaimers apply. Enjoy!

Despite his best efforts, T'Challa couldn't seem to concentrate on the staff meeting. His mind kept flashing back to his tryst with Erik not even an hour ago. It didn't help that whenever he shifted in his seat, he was acutely aware of the growing wet spot underneath him as come slowly trickled out of his sloppy hole.

T'Challa gulped and crossed his legs over each other, his face burning. He usually didn't fidget so much, and always tried to maintain good posture like a well-bred, well-behaved omega. But now it was as if he just couldn't help himself. He didn't _feel_ like a well-behaved omega. He felt like - well.

Like a _slut._

A heated flush of embarrassment crept up T'Challa's neck. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his mind, and looked down at his notepad. It was completely blank. He hadn't taken down a single sentence throughout the meeting.

“T'Challa!” Principal N'Jadaka barked, glaring at him.

T'Challa almost jumped out of his own skin. “Y-yes, sir?” he stammered, trying not to look too guilty.

The alpha frowned at him, his mouth set into a strict line. “Repeat what I said just now.”

_Oh no._

T'Challa frantically cast his mind back, desperately trying to recall what Principal N'Jadaka had been saying. _Something about the scheduling? Or grading?_ “Um -”

But N'Jadaka didn't even give him the chance to make a wild guess. “You haven't been paying attention at all!” he snapped. “Stay behind and see me after this.”

“...Yes, sir,” T'Challa whispered unhappily.

Some of his fellow teachers directed sympathetic glances toward T'Challa. Others just smirked. T'Challa almost never got into trouble with other alphas, and they were only too happy to see him singled out for discipline this time.

T'Challa swallowed and licked his lips. His mouth had suddenly gone uncomfortably dry. Distress itched at the back of his mind, grating and unpleasant. The knowledge that he had displeased an alpha with authority over him… T'Challa barely managed to suppress a whimper. His instincts screamed at him to beg for Principal N'Jadaka’s forgiveness right away.

It was the absolute worst feeling in the world, being forced to sit still through the rest of that seemingly interminable meeting, waiting for his impending punishment. Anxiety knotted within him making his chest feel warm and tight.

Finally, _finally,_ N'Jadaka called an end to the meeting.

“My office, now,” he said to T'Challa, as the rest of T'Challa's colleagues filed out of the meeting room.

T'Challa hung his head and followed behind N'Jadaka, desperately wishing that he was leaving with the other teachers instead. He wondered how N'Jadaka was going to punish him. Maybe he would be lucky and N’Jadaka would just give him a lecture? T'Challa hadn't been teaching here long enough to become familiar with the principal’s disciplinary methods, although he had heard rumours among the staff that N'Jadaka was somewhat strict.

He swallowed as N'Jadaka closed the door to his office and locked it behind them.

T”Challa looked around. He had never been in the principal’s personal office before. At first glance, it looked very much like a standard office. There were shelves lined with books, a heavy wooden desk piled messily with stacks of paper, and a sleek black desktop PC placed at an angle on the desk.

But what was definitely _non-standard_ was the row of paddles, straps and canes hanging on hooks on the far wall. Heart pounding, T'Challa stared at the dreaded implements with wide eyes. He desperately hoped that they were for use on misbehaving students instead of misbehaving omegas.

N'Jadaka smirked as he observed T'Challa's apprehension. He stalked closer to T'Challa, causing T'Challa to startle and tense up involuntarily. The handsome alpha’s proximity had his heart racing, his cheeks flushing with heat. Hastily, he dropped his eyes to the floor as N’Jadaka stopped right before him.

“What's gotten into you today?” N'Jadaka said, crossing his arms. “You were fidgety and distracted throughout the meeting. You've always been so well-behaved. I expect better from you.”

T'Challa hung his head, crushed by the alpha's reprimand. He was so rarely scolded that even this mild rebuke from his boss was enough to make him feel terribly guilty.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don't have any excuses. I just - I just had a lot on my mind today,” T’Challa said in a small voice.

N'Jadaka hummed under his breath, looking at T'Challa assessingly. T'Challa arranged his face so that he looked as submissive and contrite as possible, internally praying that N'Jadaka wouldn't be too hard on him.

N'Jadaka relented. “Okay, since it's your first offence, I'll be lenient this time. Take off your pants and bend over the desk. I'm going to give you five swats. And make sure you pay attention during meetings in the future.”

T'Challa nodded eagerly, holding back an internal sigh of relief. Five smacks wasn't so bad. It would sting for a bit, and then it would be over. Growing up, he had received worse spankings at home from his mother Ramonda, who was also his guardian alpha.

Automatically, his hands moved to unbuckle his belt in compliance with N'Jadaka's command, before the implications of the order suddenly set in.

If he removed his pants, N'Jadaka was going to _see -_

“Please, sir, can I keep my pants on?” T'Challa pleaded. But he already knew that begging would be futile. N'Jadaka had crossed his arms over his chest, and a frown was beginning to appear on his face.

“Six swats. And you're getting one more spank for each second of delay.”

“Sir, please - ”

“Seven. Eight.”

“Alpha, I -”

“Nine. _Ten._ ”

The ruthless increase in N'Jadaka's counting made fear spike across T'Challa's nerves. But try as he might, T'Challa found that he just couldn't move. Tears of helplessness and distress welled up in his eyes. In his panic, he couldn't think of a plausible excuse, but he just _couldn't_ confess his shameful actions to his boss. He'd rather die than admit that he had given in to temptation and let a student fuck him.

To T'Challa's horror, N'Jadaka suddenly stepped closer to him, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, sniffing at the base of T'Challa's neck. T'Challa tried to flinch away, but was prevented from doing so by the hand that suddenly tightened around his wrist.

“You've been fucking around with a student,” N'Jadaka announced, his dark eyes glittering. _“That's_ what you're trying to hide.”

T'Challa gasped, his blood running cold. _How could he possibly know…?_

The _smell._ N'Jadaka must have somehow scented the other alpha on him. Maybe he could even smell the cum and slick… That thought made a fresh chill of sickening shame sweep over T'Challa.

“I - I - I don't know what you're talking about!” T'Challa protested, trying to squirm away.

N'Jadaka’s voice sharpened. “You dare lie to me?”

His grip on T'Challa's wrist tightened painfully, and the pad of his thumb pressed down hard into the small bones in T'Challa's wrist.

T'Challa yelped out loud in surprise and pain. His resolve immediately crumbled in the face of the alpha's rage. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I know I shouldn’t have - I'll, I'll tender my resignation immediately -”

Shame burned in the pit of his stomach. To be forced to resign in disgrace, after everyone had found out about his slutty behaviour… he knew that he deserved it, but the thought still made his tears spill over. T'Challa hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand.

“Not so fast,” N'Jadaka purred. “Who was it?”

“I - I - ”

“Who fucked you?”

“... Erik Stevens. From Class 4A,” T'Challa confessed in a whisper, swallowing back tears. He hoped that Erik wouldn't get into trouble too.

“Class 4?* So he's of age. How long has this been going on?”

“Today was the first time - ”

 _“Really.”_ N'Jadaka cut him off mid-sentence, his voice filled with deep scepticism.

“I’m not lying, sir, I swear it! Please believe me,” T'Challa pleaded.  

“Hmmm.” N'Jadaka tapped a finger against the side of his mouth. “Did he make you?”

T'Challa knew that this could have been his way out, but his conscience just wouldn't permit him to push all the blame onto Erik. “N-no. He was - he was pushy. B-but I didn't fight back… I wanted it.”

This was the hardest thing for T'Challa to admit. Tears blurred his vision again, and he couldn't hold back a sob after that shameful confession.

“Aww, don't cry, sweetheart,” N'Jadaka purred, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He finally released his grip on T'Challa's wrist, then reached forward to carelessly brush away the tears clinging to the ends of T'Challa's eyelashes. “And stop trying to quit. I'm not going to fire you. If I fired everyone who did this, I'd have nobody left to teach the students.”

T'Challa's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at N’Jadaka, his eyes widening with surprise. “You're not…?”

“That doesn't mean you're off the hook already,” N'Jadaka said warningly. “You've been a _very_ bad omega.”

T'Challa sniffled. “I'm sorry, sir,” he whispered.

“You know, at first I was just going to give you a light spanking. But I think a naughty slut like you deserves a much more severe punishment, don't you agree?”

T'Challa's breath hitched. N'Jadaka didn't sound particularly angry - his tone was teasing instead of admonishing, but the word _slut_ still had him cringing in shame, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He didn't dare to resist as N'Jadaka manhandled him over the desk, although he couldn't suppress a small, trembling gasp as N'Jadaka reached in front to unbuckle his belt, then yanked T'Challa's pants and underwear down around his ankles.

For the second time that day, T'Challa found himself bent over with his ass in the air, stripped and spread out before a predatory alpha.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Class 4 = secondary 4, so Erik is 16 in this fic. 16 is the legal age of consent in this universe.


	3. Chapter 3

T’Challa jumped as he felt N'Jadaka running his warm hands over his ass, before giving his cheeks a good squeeze. Despite his fear, involuntary arousal still warmed the pit of his stomach at the sound of the alpha’s appreciative grunt.

He squeaked as one of N’Jadaka’s fingers prodded against his loose, knotted-open hole, sliding easily through the mess of slick and come within him. His face heated up with embarrassment as slick started to coat his insides again in response to the stimulation.

“Like that?” N’Jadaka teased, as another finger joined the first, thrusting deeper into him and rubbing against his inner walls, which were still tender and sensitive from the previous round of fucking.

T'Challa buried his face in his hands in shame, trying to stifle a moan. Of course he liked it, but he'd rather die than admit it to N’Jadaka, given why he was being punished in the first place. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from shifting his legs wider apart, squirming back and trying to get more.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. I said I was going to spank you first, didn't I?”

T’Challa choked back a cry as N’Jadaka suddenly tangled his fingers into T'Challa's short hair. N'Jadaka pulled T'Challa's head back with a light tug on his hair, forcing T'Challa to tilt his head up and arch his back. His gaze landed on the row of straps, paddles and canes on the far wall.

“Pick one,” N’Jadaka ordered.

Anxiety clenched in T’Challa’s chest as he considered the options. Which one would hurt the least? The straps all looked uniformly awful - he _really_ didn't want to be whipped. But the large, heavy paddles were sure to cause bruises that would last for days. The canes looked deceptively thin, but physics told him that the concentration of force on a single thin line would be excruciatingly painful. T’Challa hesitated, unable to make up his mind.

“If you don't pick anything, I'm going to choose one for you. And I'll make sure to select one that really, really hurts,” N’Jadaka warned.

T’Challa nibbled on his lip helplessly, his mind working fast. “The ruler,” he said at last, eyes landing upon the long wooden ruler at the very end of the row. Broad enough to bruise instead of cutting into his skin, but not as heavy and unforgiving as the paddles. He tried to imagine how the hard wood would feel against his ass and couldn't help but instinctively tense up in fear at the thought. T’Challa was almost never punished either at work or at home. Usually, he was so well-behaved that he rarely gave any alpha cause to discipline him. He had never been subjected to anything more severe than a brief hand spanking, and he knew that the ruler was going to _hurt._

“So you want it traditional, huh?” N’Jadaka said as he made his way over to take the ruler down from where it was hanging. “Good choice.”

N’Jadaka casually smacked the ruler against his palm several times as he walked back towards T’Challa. The solid sound of the ruler slapping against flesh made T’Challa shiver in dread and anticipation as N'Jadaka approached. His heart was pounding fast as N'Jadaka took up position behind him, then pressed down with his warm palm into the small of T'Challa's back, forcing him to arch up. The similarity to the traditional mounting position - face down, back arched, ass offered up in invitation - had T'Challa flushing with embarrassment and arousal. Desperately, he wished that the circumstances were anything but this.

“Do you like being spanked?” N'Jadaka murmured, his breath ghosting over the shell of T'Challa's ear. Idly, he tapped lightly against T'Challa's buttocks with the flat surface of the ruler, making him shiver.

T'Challa boggled at the question. “What? No!” he exclaimed. He wasn't looking forward to this _at all._

N'Jadaka laughed at his protest. “Aww. Poor baby. How many did I say I'd give you just now?”

“Ten, sir.” T'Challa said in a small voice.

“No need to count. I want you to focus on how it feels.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spread your legs and raise your hips. I want to see you keep your ass out. If you stand up or reach back, you're going to get extra swats.”

T'Challa complied, wiggling slightly as he shuffled his legs further apart and pressed his forehead against the cold wooden surface of the desk. The position made him feel completely exposed and vulnerable. He supposed that was the entire point of it. Biting his lip, T’Challa reached out and curled his fingers around the far edge of the desk, doing his best to brace himself.

N’Jadaka tapped the flat of the ruler rhythmically against the cheeks of his ass, light warning pats that were just a brief taste of what was about to come. Dread and anticipation curled tightly in the pit of T’Challa’s stomach as the ruler moved lower, right down towards the roundest part of his ass.

Without warning, N’Jadaka drew the ruler back and then brought it down hard.

The sound of wood smacking against soft, vulnerable skin rang out through the office. A breathless cry escaped T'Challa's lips as heat and pain spread across his ass, blooming out from the small narrow area against which the ruler had made contact. Automatically, his hips bucked forward in a futile attempt to escape the pain and avoid the next smack. The movement caused his cock to drag against the smooth surface of the desk, sending a spark of pleasure up his spine at the friction.

T'Challa whimpered at the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure, which was heightened when N'Jadaka patted his heated ass with the cool surface of the ruler again.

“Get back into position,” N'Jadaka said.

It took all of T'Challa's willpower to move his hips back and stick his ass back out for the next spank. But his instincts were screaming at him not to further provoke an alpha who was already in the midst of punishing him. He knew that disobeying would only make things worse for himself.

N'Jadaka didn't even give him time to catch his breath before the ruler came down hard against his ass again. A flurry of smacks rained down this time, so fast that T'Challa's mind barely had time to register the impact of each individual strike before the next one was already landing. The force and location of the smacks varied, leaving T'Challa completely unprepared for where the next blow would land. Somehow that was the worst part. The spanking itself wasn't excruciatingly painful - T'Challa was acutely aware that N'Jadaka was holding back, not exerting his full strength as an alpha - but the unpredictability and force of the smacks still had T’Challa breathless and squirming in discomfort. His yelps blurred together into a pained whine, raising in pitch as the sting and the heat intensified.  

It took him a moment for T'Challa to register that the spanking had finally stopped. He experienced a brief moment of disorientation before N'Jadaka said, “We’re halfway done. I'll give you a minute before I start again.”

T'Challa sniffled and lowered his forehead to the table, panting and trying to catch his breath. His ass _hurt._ He had never been spanked so thoroughly before in his life. His backside felt sore and tender, especially the parts where the fresh marks from the ruler had overlapped with the marks left behind from the earlier swats. T'Challa longed to reach back and rub away the sting, but N'Jadaka had already warned him that doing so would just earn him more smacks.

But worse than the physical pain was the confusing mixture of sensations flooding throughout his body. He felt flushed and breathless, and not solely from the sting of the spanking. The friction from grinding against the desk and the blood rushing towards his lower half had him whimpering and half-hard. Somehow the sting and the terror of the impending punishment hadn't lessened his arousal one bit. T'Challa desperately prayed that N'Jadaka hadn't picked up on the slick that he was no doubt leaking right now.

A soft, cool hand caressed his ass, making T'Challa jump in surprise.

“Does it hurt?” N'Jadaka purred in his ear. He began to stroke gently across T'Challa's sore ass, soothing and rubbing away the worst of the sting.

T'Challa couldn't hold back a small, shameful moan at the alpha's caresses. To his mortification, his body began to react, producing slick and scent that saturated the air.

“Sir, I’m sorry -” T’Challa began, flushing hot with embarrassment.

“What’s there to be sorry about?” N’Jadaka cooed. “It’s a natural Omegan response. You’re very responsive. Sensitive. Your future mate would love that.”

The talk of mating had T’Challa blushing even harder. He almost wished that N’Jadaka would just get on with the rest of the punishment instead of being all flirty - he was making it very difficult to stay properly contrite.

But N’Jadaka continued on relentlessly, “A sweet little thing like you should’ve been mated off long ago. What was your guardian alpha thinking?”

“I asked my mother not to mate me off when I came of age. I know it's unusual, but I wanted to start working first. See the world...” T'Challa’s voice trailed off. He hadn't wanted to settle down with an alpha immediately once he presented, as was normally expected of an omega. His mother Ramonda was unusually lenient with him, but there was no guarantee that his alpha would allow T'Challa to have the independence that he wanted.

“Foolish. She shouldn’t have indulged you so much. No wonder you're spreading your legs for any alpha who looks your way. You're not getting the sex you need from your mate. And you need an alpha to _keep you in line.”_

T'Challa gasped and flinched as N'Jadaka slapped his ass as if to emphasize the admonishment. But the pain faded away quickly as N’Jadaka cupped his ass and began to rub in small circles, soothing away the pain, making it melt into a warm, almost pleasurable buzz under the surface of his skin.

A soft, pleased hum escaped T'Challa's lips as he allowed himself to enjoy N'Jadaka's petting and stroking. It was hard for him to hold onto his earlier reservations when a gorgeous alpha was touching him like that. Why _had_ he fought so hard against being mated off anyway? N’Jadaka was right. He needed a mate. The thought of having an alpha who would fuck him senseless and spank him whenever he misbehaved had him all hot and bothered now. He ground back against N'Jadaka's hand, trying to get more.

“Fuck, you've got a great ass,” N'Jadaka growled, his voice turning low and possessive. “So _hot…_ I'm almost tempted to skip the rest of the punishment and just fuck this juicy ass right now.”

 _“Yes,”_ T’Challa begged, spreading his legs to encourage N’Jadaka. But he was rewarded with another slap, this time on his other ass cheek. T'Challa let out a startled, indignant yelp, flinching at the unexpected pain.

“Don't think you're getting out of this so easily,” N'Jadaka said, sounding amused. T'Challa's heart sank as he picked up the ruler again the table. “Get back into position.”

T'Challa didn't really want to be whipped further on his already sore ass, but he knew better than to disobey. He spread his legs further apart and pushed his ass out.

“Ready?” N'Jadaka patted him lightly with the ruler.

T'Challa pouted. “No.”

“Too bad.”

A sudden, light smack across both of his cheeks made him flinch and gasp aloud, more out of surprise than pain. The second one had T'Challa rising to his tiptoes in a futile effort to escape, his cock dragging against the surface of the table as he squirmed.

Several other swats quickly followed, but T'Challa could tell that N'Jadaka was going easier on him this time. Each smack of the ruler was just hard enough to leave behind a warm, lush sort of sting where he had been struck, but not forceful enough to cause any serious lasting pain. 

He was a flushed, breathless mess by the time N'Jadaka dropped the ruler back on the table again, after giving him what was really more like five pats on his ass. T'Challa went pliant as N'Jadaka’s fingers scraped lightly across the surface of his warm, sensitized skin, causing a pleasant tingle to run up his spine.

“Mmmm,” T'Challa gasped, spreading his legs wider to accommodate N’Jadaka. The feeling of hands against his tender, sensitive ass was amazing. Each touch seemed twice as intense as it would normally have felt, even as warm hands gripped his upper thighs and pushed them even further apart. He felt pleasantly flushed and submissive bent over the desk, ass raised up in the traditional breeding position, ready to be mounted and knotted.

Then there was the familiar feeling of the head of a cock probing at his entrance, which was already loose and wet with slick and come.

T'Challa inhaled sharply as N’Jadaka sank into him in one smooth motion, toes curling as the alpha bottomed out within him. N’Jadaka’s cock was longer and thicker than Erik’s - he was a full-grown alpha, after all - and it was enough to fill him up until he was pleasantly, achingly stuffed, almost to the point of aching.

T'Challa squirmed at the tight fit, mouth falling open as N'Jadaka began to thrust, his cock pumping in and out of him. The size and power of it had T'Challa crying out loud in ecstasy, his hole flooding with slick to ease the discomfort of being roughly fucked open. N'Jadaka's fingers curled hard into his sides, dragging T'Challa back by the hips with each hard thrust. Helpless little whimpers escaped T'Challa as jolts of pleasure burst inside of him with each thrust, N'Jadaka seeming to nail the exact spot deep within T'Challa that was driving him wild with ecstasy.

N'Jadaka bent over T'Challa so that his muscled chest was flat against T'Challa's back. T'Challa went pliant beneath N'Jadaka as N'Jadaka tongue licked a hot stripe over the soft skin at the base of his neck, right over his mating gland. The action had T'Challa instinctively relaxing into submission, baring his throat to the alpha's sharp teeth.

“I've had my eye on you for a long time, T'Challa,” N'Jadaka breathed quietly into his ear.

The dark, possessive tone had a shiver running down T'Challa's spine. His trembling intensified as N'Jadaka teeth grazed the skin of his neck. The clear implication behind that gesture sent a shock of anticipation throughout him and he felt himself practically melting into N'Jadaka's arms. Everything about N'Jadaka - his strength, his authority, his dominant personality - had T'Challa's instincts screaming that this alpha was _the_ one.

Caught up in a haze of lust and instinct, T’Challa willingly arched up towards N'Jadaka.

There was a brief, stabbing pain as N’Jadaka’s teeth pierced through his gland.

_“Yes.”_

The animalistic growl of satisfaction that came from N’Jadaka made desire shoot to his cock again. All-consuming pleasure exploded within him at the same time as N’Jadaka’s knot began to swell. With a final few erratic thrusts, N'Jadaka forced the swelling base of his cock past the rim of T'Challa's hole. T'Challa gasped and went limp as warm spurts of come began to coat his insides, N'Jadaka's knot swelling to plug it up.

Automatically, T'Challa shifted his legs further apart to accommodate the stretch of the large alpha knot, a satisfied purr leaving his lip. His legs were shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, and his breath was coming out in shallow, light pants as he finally began to come down from the frenzied high of fucking and bonding.

The full implications of what he'd just done slowly started to sink into T'Challa, through the floaty, blissful haze that had clouded his mind.

He had just willingly tied himself to N’Jadaka. His _boss._ An alpha that he barely knew.

Thinking with his _dick_ instead of his _brain -_

T’Challa began to try and struggle free, but N’Jadaka’s arms were wrapped around him so tightly that he couldn’t squirm away. And besides, he wasn’t going anywhere while he was knotted on N’Jadaka’s dick. The movement caused the knot to catch painfully at the edge of his hole, and T’Challa couldn’t help letting out a small, pitiful whimper.

“Don’t panic, darling,” N’Jadaka purred. “I’m going to take _such_ good care of you. My mate.”

 


End file.
